


Promises

by strangerthingswasntthatgood



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: CW, Drabble, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Drugs, Other, Short, Suicide, Suicide mention, content warning, trigger warning, tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-10 00:06:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15279195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangerthingswasntthatgood/pseuds/strangerthingswasntthatgood
Summary: Drabble about the first time Sherlock hears the phrase “your life is not your own”





	Promises

_ Your life is not your own. _

 

That was what Mycroft had told him that one time. That one time when they agreed on the list and the one time Sherlock had almost… lost it. His life. His life that was not his own, according to his brother.

 

Of course his brother had been right, but he wouldn’t find that out until they lost Mary. It had hurt when his grandpa had died and when Redbeard had died, but it hadn’t been like with Mary. He had promised John. He had promised John and he couldn’t keep that one, simple promise.

 

“You’ve lost your mind, brother mine.”

 

Sherlock turned on the couch. He had just turned eighteen when it happened. Mycroft hadn’t been old, either, of course. Their parents had been away for the weekend. Sherlock had worked on a case and at that time, their parents hadn’t figured it out. Mycroft knew, of course. He had known from day one, Sherlock was sure of it.

 

“Your life is not your own. You’ll hurt the people around you. Don’t let mommy know.” Mycroft had stroked his soaked hair from Sherlock’s face and later dried the sweat from his fingers on his new suit pants.

 

“Mommy…” Sherlock had mumbled, as he turned again. Sweating the addiction out was the worst thing that could happen, especially when he had been so high that… you all know what I mean. He had almost lost his life. Mycroft would, of course, bring it up from time to time and Sherlock would feel guilty and tired and he wouldn’t speak for a day or two, then he’d be good again. As if nothing had happened.

 

“I’ve phoned them. They’re on their way home.”

 

Mycroft sat by his bed until the ambulance came. He hadn’t come with Sherlock, but Sherlock had seen the way Mycroft must have dried tears from his face.

 

The list was first brought up at the hospital. Their parents hadn’t arrived yet and Sherlock was barely awake. The first he saw was Mycroft‘s face. It looked tense and Mycroft looked upset rather than angry.

 

Mycroft held out a small notebook. It was just big enough to fit in Sherlock’s hand, together with a pencil.

 

“You don’t have to use this, but… from now on… no matter where I find you, you’ll have a list. You’ll have a list of everything,  _ everything,  _ you’ve taken, Sherlock. I’m not asking.”

 

Sherlock had turned away from his brother. He was eighteen, he was supposed to be moody and angry and probably suicidal (which he wasn’t going to talk about nor answer any questions about) and the only thing that had seemed reasonable at the time was to turn away. Mycroft had sighed loudly, but had placed the notebook on the bed, right next to Sherlock’s head.

 

“You can talk to me. I’m your brother, I’m supposed to take care of you”, Mycroft stopped for only a second. “I didn’t even promise mommy.”

 

The corner of Sherlock’s lips had tugged up in a small smile. It was weird, Mycroft always knew what to say. Mycroft could make him happy when he was sad and irritated when he was happy. Their mother called it “loving siblings”, while Sherlock called it “annoying brother syndrome”. At least he had when he was younger.

 

“Promise me, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock closed his eyes for a second and sat. He opened his eyes only when he was sure he had the notebook and the pencil. He opened the book and slowly wrote each and every one he had taken the night before.

 

“Thank you, Sherlock.”


End file.
